(Clone Wars fanfiction, happy-ending AU, post-war)
Rating: G
Characters: Hevy, Fives, Droidbait, Cutup, Echo, 99, and three little Trandoshan OCs
Continue reading below, or READ ON AO3 HERE
The town the Dominos had settled in, in the jungled hills of Yavin 4, was small, but not so small it lacked all amenities. There was a grocery store, a clinic, a speeder garage, a holovid rental, and even, to their delight, a small gym. Hevy, Fives, and Droidbait’s delights, anyway—Echo and Cutup were the less-athletic homebodies, quite happy to watch birds from the back porch with 99, while their brothers “puttered around” with weights. This particular day, those three would have company, though—the Dominos were babysitting their Trandoshan neighbors’ children (as was all of their delights to do), and Ripp and Posy, the eldest, had begged to come along. Cutup, Echo, and 99 could take care of baby Pickle—and really, how could Hevy, Fives, and Droidbait say no to those shiny, grinning little lizard eyes?
The minute the gym doors opened, Droidbait and Ripp hit the track. Droidbait had always been the fastest Domino, his sprinting and tumbling saving him more than once from droid gunfire during the war. He was more than happy to pass on his skills to the eldest little Trandoshan, who stood grinning his pointy but sweet little grin up at him. (Droidbait was also happy to get to “play the big brother” for a change, every time their baby friends were over.) The clone flashed his playful, bronze grin down at Ripp in return, and motioned around the track, which encircled the workout machines in the center of the room.
“Ready… set… GO!” Off they trotted, Droidbait grinning all the more at the sensation of wind against his face (which he enjoyed now more than ever, without a helmet). Ripp—true to his own name—was not far behind, giggling and chasing after his human shepherd like a bullet.
In the center of the workout area, meanwhile, stood Fives, reclining on a rowing machine. …Truth be told, Fives was rather vain. Out of all the Dominos, he mostly enjoyed working out because he still fancied himself a model. Pausing mid-row, he suddenly looked backward to admire himself in a mirror on the nearest wall, and blew himself a kiss. Posy ambled by, and couldn’t help but clamp both little claws over her snout, giggling at her silly uncle.
Hevy, of course, in some ways was the opposite of Fives—quite the butterball post-war, and perfectly happy to be, his abundant belly peeking out from under his gym-shirt. He was certainly a strong butterball, though—hefting a weight twice as large as those favored by most of the other gym-goers, easily above his shoulder. Hevy paused to notice his bicep in the mirror likewise, flashing himself quite the admiring grin. (Perhaps he and Fives were not so different after all.) Posy giggled at him, too.
…Posy loved all her dear Domino uncles, but everyone knew Uncle Cutup was her extra-special favorite. And as his closest brother, Hevy was therefore special and familiar to her, too. She had been sticking near him all this trip, and watched him lifting the weights with awe. …She wanted to be strong like Uncle Hevy! Make him proud! With a cute squeak, the little Trandoshan girl trundled to the nearest pile of weights, and pulled out a purple kettlebell (she had liked its pretty color). SQUEAK! The noise she made was a little louder now, as she suddenly rolled back with the round weight on her own round tummy (though not quite as round as Uncle Hevy’s), weighing her to the ground.
Fives noticed, and intervened. “Oh no, honey, don’t pick one near as big as you!” he chuckled kindly, in the clones’ shared paternal rasp, and moved to take it off of her. But Posy protested.
“Noooo! Wanna be stronk!” she chunnered, in her reptilian but cute little voice. She hugged the kettlebell tighter, even as it pinned her to the floor.
Hevy chuckled kindly but roughly himself then, moving to her aid. “Aww, o’ course ya do, Posy,” he boomed encouragingly down at her, hands on hefty hips. “And I think ya are!” his grin broadened further, as he bent to scoop both the Trandoshan child and her kettlebell into his burly arms.
Hevy, Fives, and Posy all laughed happily together, the clones letting the child believe she had lifted the weight herself. “See?” Hevy echoed to her, booping her scaly nose with his own. “Stronk!”
Back at the house, there was a bit of “stereo warfare” going on. Cutup was dancing about merrily to the hard-rock tunes of Zalinx Flow (a Nikto band he had favored ever since his cadet days), chomping on one of the raw mushrooms they were supposed to be cooking for supper. He tickled the scaly nose of Pickle, whom he had laid in a hay-lined basket, right next to the basket of mushrooms.
Echo came and ejected Cutup’s music-chip with a huff. “Rock ain’t good for babies,” he protested, turning the radio-knob on the sound system to one of his favorite stations instead. The soothing water-organ and synth-violin sounds of Tosloavin’s 26th Symphony flowed out, and Echo closed his eyes pleasantly, beaming. “THERE. Classical!”
“No band is more classic than Zalinx Flow!” Cutup put one hand on his hip, his unique accent turning rather peevish, around the wad of mushroom. “You put that back! ‘E likes it!” he gestured to the baby.
“Pickle is a babe of very discerning tastes, and clearly prefers symphonic opera,” Echo continued, smiling dangerously calmly.
Little Pickle darted his head from one clone uncle to the next, cluelessly—still too small to have the vocabulary to say anything about it, or really understand. He chewed on a stray hay-strand.
99 came to his rescue. “C’mere, little feller,” he chuckled, picking the Trandoshan baby up into a hug. “You can help me stuff these mushrooms with blue bantha cheddar!” The oldest clone gave Pickle a preview bit of it to chew, and kissed his forehead sweetly. The smallest Trandoshan gurgled joyfully, safe in the arms of Grandpa 99, there in the kitchen.
(Behind them, Echo and Cutup solved the argument by fishing a Willford Swinkle album out of Fives’ music-chips.
“There. Soft rock. Soft’s allowed, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, I… I guess it is,” Echo allowed, almost sleepily—anything he grew up with around his twin soothed his soul, too.)
Back at the gym, Ripp and Droidbait had tumbled and laughed on the gymnastics cushions, now, to their hearts’ content, and Posy and Fives had finally tired of finding heavier and heavier weights for aptly-named Uncle Hevy to lift. It was time for some supper for them, too. This gym had a little protein-shake bar, and Fives had insisted to the dubious children that the shakes were actually quite tasty—even Uncle Hevy liked them!
Hevy nodded his agreement, and showed Ripp the one he usually ordered—a slush of nut-butter and rich vegetable leaves, called “the Green Monster.” Possibly because of the name, Ripp giggled and agreed to try it. Posy, however, had her eyes on a different prize—there on the menu was a berry-based shake titled “Purple Power.” She tugged the edge of Fives’ black workout tank until he nearly fell over (whether from chuckling, or her very insistent toddler grip).
“All righty, Posy, a pretty purple shake for you,” Fives cooed sweetly to her, handing the barista (a male Twi’lek also in a fitness tank) the credits.
“Puuuurrrrrple,” Posy chunnered in satisfaction, taking the lid off and lapping the sweet purple sludge with her snout.
“Puuuurrrrrple,” Droidbait playfully mimicked her, sucking his own berry shake through a straw, but doing so quite loudly. Hevy and Fives both chuckled fondly at their vod’ika—just as cute (and occasionally weird) in their eyes as the Trandoshan babies—and pulled him into a growling arm apiece, Hevy kissing his curls teasingly.
That night, there were three messy-snouted babies waiting to be picked up by their parents—blue, purple, and green, their tummies full of either mushroom or milkshake. The Dominos watched them fondly—once in a while, Posy and Ripp might fight, or push, or whine (at each other or up at their clone uncles), but overall, they were so kind and affectionate with each other.
Cutup cupped his fuzzy chin in his hands and leaned into his knees, smiling and whispering, “They’re just like us.” Echo nodded assent, resting his own chin lovingly on Cutup’s shoulder—the two of them long forgetting their argument, soothed both by Willford Swinkle, and by Fives playfully pushing them together, rubbing their curls as he perched on the couch behind them.
Posy toddled over Pickle and kissed his forehead, leaving a purple mark, while Ripp held the basket steady, smiling at both his little siblings. Hevy drew Droidbait and 99 both closer to him, enjoying their heartbeats next to his mighty one. “Yeah,” he rumbled gently, with the satisfied smile of a day well-ended. “Just like us.”
